


Bounty Hunting for Dummies

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: oz_graffiti, M/M, challenge: Oz Graffixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no reason for Toby to find the words so exciting, but the thought of being ordered around by Keller still made his dick hard, even though he was handcuffed in the back of a stranger's car and absolutely no one knew where he was.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bounty Hunting for Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2011 Oz Graffixation hosted at [Oz Graffiti](http://oz-graffiti.livejournal.com/tag/graffixation). A huge thank you to my fantabulous artiste, [Dressedindeath](http://dressedindeath.livejournal.com/profile), whose artwork inspired this story. Thank you muchly to my beta [Rustler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rustler), who is awesome, the end. Also, thanks to [Ozsaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur) for coordinating this whole shindig (and knowing I'm good for it).  
> 

  
"Mr. Beecher will relinquish his passport," the judge intoned. "Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars." She banged the gavel, and the bailiff stepped forward to call the next case.

Yanking his tie loose, Toby shrugged out of his suit jacket. He accepted a handshake from his attorney, then leaned down to sign the bond paperwork.

In the hallway outside the courtroom, he sat on one of the cold stone benches, waiting while his mother dealt with the cashier and then returned with his receipts.

A worried look flashed across her face, but she only enveloped Toby in a hug and then slipped a card into his shirt pocket. "You're scheduled to appear in eight days, sweetie," she said. "Nine a.m. Don't forget."

Toby rolled his eyes. God, he needed a drink.

~

"Who's up for the next midnight run?"

Spinning his chair around, Keller found the night manager Jeremy Keith standing by the whiteboard, holding a marker and a stack of folders.

End of shift meant the doling out of new assignments, and Keith looked about how Keller felt – dragged around by the neck and then stomped on. Keller's last skip made him follow all the way to Arkansas, and then put up a struggle even after it was crystal clear that he was caught. Keller's shoulder still ached from when the guy tried to rip it out of the socket.

Keller glared at the five other hunters in the room. They all knew damn well it was his turn. The only one who looked like he wanted to raise his arm was Padowsky, and then Keller was on his feet and he yanked the file from Keith's hands.

"There's his sheet," Keith said, unnecessarily, and Keller sank back into his chair to skim through it.

Looked like a standard failure to appear, and the guy probably wouldn't be too much trouble, since it was only for a DUI. Not that drunks weren't dangerous behind the wheel or swinging into a lucky punch, but Keller had bounced enough bar fights to know how to deal with them.

He flipped the page to check out Beecher's mugshot. Shit, the guy looked about twenty-four, even though the papers said that he was almost thirty, and he had smooth, unmarked skin on his baby face and well-moisturized hands. No ink, no grime, nothing that said anything but white-collar and country club.

Keller grinned. Piece of cake.

~

Rolling over, Toby slowly opened his eyes. He checked out the ceiling in the murky light coming through the closed blinds while he waited for awareness... where he was, who he'd been with, all those interesting details that he spun into juicy stories to titillate his co-workers. Most of those poor bastards had been roped into marriage, saddled with kids and car payments, and some of them even pretended to like having responsibilities. Yeah, as if they wouldn't have traded it all for some of the wild shit he'd done, the women – and men – he'd scored, the crazy parties he'd attended. He'd seen the wide-eyed looks of pure admiration on their faces when he told them about the drunken orgies he'd been a part of, worthy of Pan himself. Then there was the time he'd ended up at the Canadian border after hitching a ride with some crazy hippies driving a VW bus painted to look like a tie-dyed t-shirt. One time he flew to Alaska on a whim. Hell, there were even a few times that he drank so much that he hadn't remembered what the fuck he'd done. All because of God's gift of alcohol.

"It's not the eighties anymore, Toby," Angus had said scornfully, when Toby called his little brother to come bail him out after the first DUI arrest.

Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Toby knew what decade it was, thank you very much. The nineties were even better because he had control of his trust fund. It wasn't as if he'd been smoking crack. He liked his libations, and truth be told, the twenty-first century just looked better through gin-soaked glasses.

Right now, though, Toby's eyelashes felt gummy and his mouth tasted like he chewed on a dirty sock all night. Even more disappointing was the fact that the other side of the bed was empty.

Dragging himself out of bed, Toby stumbled to the bathroom. His whole body protested at being hauled upright, and he had to close his eyes against the pain that ricocheted around his skull when he moved. The flickering fluorescent strip above the sink did nothing to assuage his physical discomfort. Hitting the light switch brought short-lived relief, but then the water rushing from the tap sounded like thunder. Once in the shower stall, though, the steaming hot water felt wonderful pounding against his back, and when he emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped snugly around his hips, Toby was ready to take on the day.

Or late afternoon, as he discovered, bravely raising the blinds a few inches and peering outside. The sun was still visible over the mountains, but it had started to sink behind them. A quick glance around the room revealed no alarm clock or television, not even a telephone with which to call the reservation desk. Something felt... strange.

Toby looked around again, more carefully, noticing that the bed and chair were the only pieces of furniture in the room. There was no dresser or television stand, no door separating the bathroom and bedroom, no air-conditioner, no mini-fridge, not even pieces of ugly art adorning the walls. He checked the nearly empty parking lot again, not spotting his car in any of the spaces. Well, he had probably taken a cab last night, so he just needed to get dressed and head over to the front office.

Another circle through the small room and his heart hammered in his chest: no keys, no wallet, no phone, and most importantly, no clothes. He looked down at the towel. It seemed to shrink under his furious stare, and pain throbbed in his head.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

~

Keller had been sitting in his car for thirteen hours when the garage door at Genevieve Lyon's house went up, and he had a clear view of Ms. Lyon in the driver's seat, a scarf over her hair and big-framed sunglasses taking up three-quarters of her pale face.

Jackpot.

He'd come here right after Beecher's parents' house, because first-time skips always went to their childhood home or to their girlfriend or boyfriend's place. Beecher hadn't been by his apartment in days, according to the doorman, nor had he stopped in to see his folks. Keller believed Victoria Beecher when she said that they hadn't heard from him. He'd still dumped their phones, but she'd told the truth. That lady was a real sweetheart. She'd given him all of Toby's contact information, said that she wanted Toby to be safe, wanted Keller to keep him safe. Obviously the Beechers weren't in danger of losing their house or their life savings over fifty grand, but Keller knew that Victoria's fear was real.

He had flashed a big reassuring smile and made promises that he'd sworn to a thousand other anxious mothers over the years, and he even meant most of them. Shit, if he had a dollar for every selfish, stupid ass kid who made his parents worry. Could hardly be his fault if Beecher happened to fall onto his fist a couple of times as Keller took him into custody.

The real source of information had been Beecher's younger brother. He'd shared Toby's ex-girlfriend's name and address, and the best lead yet: Toby didn't just drink one too many on the night he'd been busted. He always drank one too many on any given night. Angus ticked off a list of local bars that Toby frequented, and he'd done it all with a sneer on his face. Keller appreciated his honesty, unsurprised by the vitriol dripping from Angus's voice. Competition in the form of a narcissistic, alcoholic first-born son? There was a shitload of bitterness there, and Keller happily took full advantage of it.

Clearly Ms. Lyon wasn't expecting to be followed, so she didn't notice Keller tailing her to a department store, where he watched from the car as she picked up a garment bag with the name of a men's store written across the side. Next he followed her to a drugstore, then through the drive-up ATM at First National, and lastly to a liquor store. Either the woman lived a double life as a cross-dresser who needed cash and booze to get the party started or she was leading him straight to Beecher.

Keller smiled in satisfaction. Just as he'd thought, piece of cake.

~

Toby's first thought had been to call Gen.

After going through the room inch by unclean inch, he'd found a heap of junk in the cabinet under the sink: a balled-up, used hairnet, three condom wrappers and a dusty package of shoelaces. Gritting his teeth, he plucked the laces from the pile, ran the plastic wrapping under the tap a few times, and then fashioned a pair of booties using the washcloths from the bathroom. Tying the towel more firmly around his waist, Toby opened the door, squinting against the still-bright sun, and shuffled his way outside.

He spotted a payphone near the front office, and after the rigmarole of dialing Gen's number collect, he waited as it rang, his stomach churning, avoiding eye contact with the various vagrants drifting past on the sidewalk. The Emerald City Motor Lodge was definitely not up to Toby's usual standards.

Taking a calming breath, he reassured himself that all he needed was a change of clothes and a stiff drink. He would cancel his credit cards, buy a new phone, call in to work, and then take the rest of the day off. He still had a whole day before he had to be in court, so he planned to make it as relaxing as possible; he could sure as hell use a little rejuvenation.

Gen had sounded troubled when she answered the phone, and Toby's plan for a day of refreshment and pampering had been immediately flushed down the crapper.

"You are fucking kidding me!" Toby had shrieked, his heart pounding. Time slowed down to a crawl as all of his senses sharpened and magnified. Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled and he heard it hit the receiver. The grit on the sidewalk poked up through the thin cloths tied around his feet and ground into his soles. He saw a woman walking past, staring at him, her lips forming the words, _what the hell?_ He wanted to slump against the side of the phone booth, but it was streaked with grime and Toby had no desire to brave the hole of a bathroom inside the pit of his rented room again.

Gen's voice receded to a mutter. He thought for one long, suspended moment that she was playing a trick on him, that she was still angry about their break-up, that the rise in her tone was belligerence. His left arm and chest tingled in an alarming way and it felt as though hours passed while he digested Gen's words. Today was Saturday, not Thursday. Not Thursday. The words echoed in his mind on a loop, stuck on repeat. Saturday. He'd missed his court date. There was probably a warrant for his arrest in circulation, and he was officially on the lam. He could lose his license. He was dead meat. Saturday. Where the hell had Friday gone?

Finally, he'd convinced Gen to pick up some new clothing for him and bring it to the motel. He persuaded her that helping him out did not make her an accomplice by swearing that as soon as he was presentable, he'd turn himself in.

The thought made him want to vomit. He wasn't cut out for prison. Hell, the night he'd spent in the drunk tank at County had practically been enough to scare him straight. No way would he drink and drive again, not unless he wanted to become very good friends with a hulk of a man who sported tattoos on the back of his shaved skull. Some asshole had even stolen his watch, and it was a really nice watch, too.

The pain in his head intensified and he couldn't even sit on the bed now without his skin itching, convinced there were bedbugs marching across the sheets. There was nothing to do but stand near the window in his towel and pray that Gen hurried.

~

It was easiest to take in a fugitive without any clinging girlfriends or crying mothers in the way, so Keller waited until Ms. Lyon dropped off her packages and left. He'd watched as Beecher opened the door to the room wearing only a towel, and he had to adjust himself in his jeans. Beecher might have appeared soft in his mugshot, but everywhere Keller could see, Beecher looked nicely built, not at all the kind of physique Keller had expected from a career drunk.

When Beecher stepped out of the room again, he wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt. He stuffed a brown paper bag into the closest trashcan and then sauntered across the parking lot toward the street, moving with a confident stride, as though he hadn't fallen off the grid, as though he wasn't running from the law. It would have been a cinch to nab him right there, but Keller hesitated; he knew Beecher didn't have a passport on him, and he was probably operating on a cash-only basis, since the ex had used an ATM. Honestly, he was curious to know where Beecher thought he was going. The man didn't even have a car at his disposal, made evident when a yellow taxi pulled up and Beecher got inside.

Any thoughts that Beecher might have been trying to outfox the hunter were put to rest when the cab stopped outside of one of the bars that Angus had listed. Keller circled the block, making sure that Beecher had gone inside, and then he parked near the back door's loading ramp.

What the fuck was Beecher doing, starting his life of crime with a celebratory pint? More importantly, what the fuck was Keller doing about it? This was supposed to be an effortless capture – he'd pocket his seven thou and be home in time to catch Conan. Instead he was digging around in the backseat for his spare shirt and stripping out of the one he'd been wearing for the better part of two days. Using the car's side mirror, he ran his hand through his hair a few times, then grimaced at his reflection. This wasn't a date; he didn't need the breath mints from the glove box.

What he did need was to get a grip. No matter how attractive his dick found Beecher, the immutable fact was that he was holding a warrant for Beecher's arrest. His only goal was to charm the guy out of the bar and into a pair of cuffs. It was time to get his head in the game. Taking a deep breath, Keller shook the tension out of his shoulders and strode toward the door.

Showtime.

~

Toby figured that if he had to turn himself in, he may as well do it with the benefits from a couple drinks, both to ease his tension and to buy some time while he worked out a plausible excuse for missing his hearing. Roofied, conned and then mugged seemed like a good route to take, and enough time had passed that it sounded reasonable without being over the top. For all he knew, he had been drugged, but the courts might want to do a drug test, which meant laying low for at least another few hours to make sure he could explain away any negative results. He would report his car as stolen when he got to the police station. There wasn't any need to reveal that his clothes had been taken and he could even pretend that he'd awakened on a park bench.

Satisfied with this course of action, Toby hailed the bartender and ordered another round.

He'd raised the tumbler halfway to his mouth when someone jostled against him from behind. He swore as the gin in his glass slopped over the edge and onto the bar. He turned around, glaring, ready to demand that the person responsible buy him another drink. The words stuck in his throat as he took in the sight of the man standing in front of him; instead of reimbursement, his immediate thought was _wow_. Dark hair, tall, intense blue eyes and a body so well-toned that Toby could see the guy's biceps outlined through his button-down shirt. The top three buttons were undone, showing a white wife beater underneath, and the dip between the guy's collarbones looked like a perfect fit for Toby's tongue. Toby wanted to know what it might be like to be pinned underneath this man, to roll around with him, tussling, breathless with want and lust.

The guy stared at him for a moment, then looked down at Toby's wrist, wet with gin. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “Let me buy you another.” Well, that was more like it.

“Okay,” Toby said, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat. “I mean, that's the least you could do after this exceptionally shitty day.”

The guy parked himself on the bar stool next to Toby. “Chris Keller,” he said, offering his hand for a quick shake. He signaled the bartender. “Two of whatever he was having, and,” he glanced at Toby, “make his a double.”

Toby smiled. “Toby Beecher, and, thanks.”

They sat silently until the drinks arrived, with noise from the jukebox and the clatter of pool cues striking billiard balls in the background. Toby sneaked sideways glances at Keller, admiring the set of his shoulders and the laugh lines around his mouth. Keller exuded a vibe of false relaxation, his sprawl screaming casual, but there was a coiled tension in his body, as though he was waiting for a brawl to break out in the bar just so that he could join in. This was a dangerous man, Toby thought, and the idea sent a delicious shiver down his back.

The drinks arrived and Keller laid money out on the bar, then clinked his glass against Toby's and said, “Sláinte.”

They both took a sip, and then Keller said, “Why exceptionally shitty?”

Toby took another gulp of gin. “Christ, I wouldn't even know where to start.” He flashed back on an image of himself standing in the roach motel, towel around his waist and washcloths tied to his feet.

“Try me,” Keller said, slanting a look at Toby, his gaze wandering down and then up again. His words sounded like a come on, tempting Toby, asking for his confidence.

“What the hell,” Toby said, flapping a hand at Keller. “To start with, I woke up today in some crappy motel, and the guy I'd been with had bailed, taking my wallet, phone, keys, all of it.”

Keller made a sympathetic noise in his throat that sounded near enough to a purr that Toby rushed to get the rest of the story out so that he could turn the conversation to better topics, like how far away did Keller live and did he want to go there and did he like it rough.

“He also took all of my clothes,” Toby continued. “I had to call my ex-girlfriend, which I really didn't want to do, but it was either her or my shitheel of a brother, and after last time, I'd had enough of his fucking lectures.”

“He doesn't approve of you sleeping with random men in shady motels?” Keller asked.

The words stung for a moment, but Toby recovered quickly. “Usually the motels aren't shady,” he sniped, and to his surprise Keller grinned.

“So I got Gen – that's my ex – to bring me some clothes and stuff, but I have to cancel all my cards, and report my car stolen, and that's going to be such a pain in the ass,” Toby said. He hesitated, taking another drink. “Also...”

“Also...” Keller prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Toby made a noise of derision. “Remember, you asked.”

“Cross my heart,” Keller replied, listening attentively.

“Well... I'm– I'm a lawyer. I was supposed to be in court on Friday,” Toby said. “But I couldn't go, since I was probably drugged and left for dead in that motel room or something, I don't know. I lost a day somewhere,” he said, knowing he sounded churlish but uncaring. He stared at his glass, wishing it would magically refill itself.

“Can't you just call your boss, apologize a lot, maybe file a report with the cops?” Keller asked.

Toby watched as Keller traced the rim of his tumbler with one finger. It was a hypnotic motion; he had to look away, and their gazes connected in the mirror behind the bar for several long seconds.

Finally, Keller said, “Can't be too bad. You'll probably get docked a couple days' vacation or something, right?”

Toby looked at him. “It's not quite like that.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, I am a lawyer, but this time, the court date was for me. It was the State of New York versus me. DUI,” he finished.

“Hunh,” Keller said. “Yeah, that changes things.”

“Yeah,” Toby said miserably. “Especially since it's the second one.”

“Maybe I shouldn't have bought you a drink after all,” Keller said. There was a short, awkward silence. “Gotta say I'm surprised, though.”

Toby felt the chances of getting this guy into bed slipping away, but he had to ask, “Surprised? Why?”

Abandoning his glass, Keller turned and treated Toby to the most intense appraisal he'd undergone since he was fourteen years old and had been caught raiding his parents' liquor cabinet. Then Keller shrugged, slouching back in the chair.

“You don't look like the type to drink and drive,” he said.

Whatever showed on Toby's face led Keller to expound.

“Look, you're a lawyer, so you defend the actions of other people. Guess I thought you'd make sure your own actions were defensible, too.” He threw out a glance around the rest of the bar, then snapped his attention back to Toby. “Hard to make good decisions when you're drunk and stupid, and I hadn't figured you for a stupid guy, Toby. I mean, you got a death wish, that's fine, drink yourself into the grave, but don't take anyone else along on that ride.”

Toby stared at Keller. Finally, he said, “And what is it that do you do? Shrink peoples' heads? Stick them on poles outside your house?”

Keller laughed. “Nah,” he said, eyes alight with humor. “Calling it as I see it.”

“Yeah, from what, an entire twenty minutes of conversation,” Toby groused.

“I'm an observational guy,” Keller said. He leaned forward. “So...”

Toby's mouth was dry, but he wasn't thirsty for booze after being treated to that long, lingering, up-and-down stare from Keller. “Yeah?” he said, trying to pretend he was barely paying attention.

“Huh, maybe you are a stupid guy,” Keller said.

Toby bristled. “What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

Keller's gaze focused on Toby's mouth. “It means, Toby, you wanna go somewhere?”

~

Keller had alternated between amusement and disgust during their whole conversation. He'd felt an unexpected jolt of sympathy as Toby described waking up after getting rolled. Obviously the guy wasn't a sociopath, and his sin was being too trusting, he'd just picked up the wrong guy. Then after a few more minutes of talking, he'd been a breath away from hauling Toby up by the collar and bending him over the bar to snap the cuffs in place. He'd even composed a few choice words to share while he was dragging his bounty away, like how jumping bail on a second deuce showed what an entitled prick Toby was; instead, he'd let his dick do the talking. Shit.

Toby smiled at him, delighted, and Keller's irritation drained away.

He watched Toby's expression take on an edge of slyness, and he stood up from the bar stool abruptly, losing his balance and pitching forward, then breaking his fall by grabbing hold of Keller's thighs. Nudging his way between Keller's legs, he whispered, "Sorry," not sounding sorry in the least.

Keller suppressed a laugh. Rich guy getting handsy barely blipped on his radar, and he didn't have the heart to tell Toby that the ol' trip-and-fall went out of style about the time that man invented the wheel.

He helped Toby up, slinging an arm around Toby's waist, and they leaned against each other as Keller fumbled for his wallet. Toby slid his hand over Keller's ass and groped it.

Keller stared. "Help ya?"

"'M good," Toby replied breezily.

"Uh huh," Keller said. His dick was sure as hell still interested, already half-hard in his jeans as Toby continued his exploration of touch. It was when Toby talked that was the problem. Maybe he should give Toby a bottle of booze to suck on while Keller rubbed up against his ass.

They were out of the bar and halfway down the block before Keller realized that they were heading away from his car. Casually, he stuck his foot out, watched Toby trip – for real this time – and then caught Toby's elbow in a tight grip before he could make it all the way down to the pavement.

About to wrestle him back up, ready to say something like, "C'mon, let's go this way," or even simply brush Toby's mussed hair back from his face, Keller was stunned when Toby groaned, "God, yes," and dropped the few inches to his knees. Keller let go of Toby's arm when Toby shoved him backwards, stumbling and then hitting a storefront's metal security gate. The clatter echoed loudly on the empty street.

On his knees, Toby crowded closer, gazing up intently. He rubbed his cheek on Keller's thigh, making a quiet growly noise. Keller ripped open his jeans, pulling out his dick; he stared, loving the sight of Toby pushing his face against the smooth skin of Keller's stomach and pressing open-mouthed kisses over his abs, then moving down to bury his nose in the hair at the base of Keller's cock.

"You smell good," Toby mumbled, sounding sincere for the first time that night.

It was hard not to shudder when Toby dipped his head lower and ran his tongue between Keller's balls. Licking one long wet stripe back up the underside, he sucked the head of Keller's cock into his mouth, cheeks hollowing and making a pleased noise in his throat when Keller groaned.

Keller grabbed hold of the bars behind him, watching the easy slide of his cock pushing between Toby's lips. Toby had one hand pressed to the crotch of his own pants, rubbing, and his other hand gripped Keller's knee, coaxing him forward, inviting Keller to fuck his mouth.

“Christ,” Keller said, exhaling roughly, wanting to grab Toby's hair and pull. He wanted to wrap his hand around Toby's jaw, forcing his mouth open wider. He wanted to feel the muscles of Toby's throat rippling against the head of his dick, and all he had to do was thrust forward and lose himself in the heat of Toby's eyes on his, in the heady haze of sex surrounding them.

Toby pulled back, sucking hard, lashing his tongue back and forth, and Keller buckled and broke. He worked his fingers into Toby's hair, yanking him up into a kiss. It turned out not to be so much a kiss as a devouring – something sizzling hot crackled between them, consuming them for long minutes before they gasped for air, mouths barely touching and lips brushing softly with each breath. Keller's bottom lip tingled from the imprint of Toby's teeth. They'd fisted their hands tightly in each other's shirts, and now Keller leaned back, reaching to grab Toby's dick through his jeans. Toby rocked forward, panting, straining for another kiss.

Keller rubbed harder, loving the look on Toby's face. It had to mean something that he was breaking his own rules for Toby, that it wasn't just some perverse reaction to a really good kiss.

Toby whispered something; Keller was about to suggest that he get back down on his knees when he caught the words.

“Holy shit, shit, fucking cunt of a judge, worth it, totally worth it, oh, god.”

Stiffening, Keller pushed Toby away, hard enough to make him stagger, listing to the side.

“Hey!” Toby said angrily. “The fuck's your problem, Keller?”

“What's 'worth it,' Toby?” Keller asked.

Toby's face creased with puzzlement. “You,” he said. “Meeting you. Totally worth missing that court date.” He laughed, reaching out and trying to unbutton Keller's shirt. “Come on, let's fuck. We can go to your place.”

Keller stared in disbelief. Maybe Toby wasn't a sociopath, but he wasn't feeling remorse either, worrying about what could happen by postponing turning himself in. He didn't seem concerned about his upcoming punishment, paying fines, the indignity of losing his license, or even a jail sentence. He simply acted as though there weren't any consequences, and Keller knew better. Justice may have been momentarily blinded by Toby's legal team, probably armed with one potential defense after another, but the fact that he was standing there on the sidewalk with Toby – with his _prey_ \- was proof that sometimes the system worked.

He'd gotten carried away. He'd let the magnetism between them overwhelm him, but that ended now. He shook his head. “That's it. I'm done. We're through.”

“What are you talking about? I said, we can go to your place,” Toby said. “Night's young.”

Tucking his dick back into his jeans, Keller zipped up. “Hate to break it to you, baby, but your night is over.”

~

From the backseat of Keller's car, Toby yelled, outraged. “You can't do this! Who the hell do you think you are?”

Keller didn't reply. He was in the driver's seat, studying forms stuck to a clipboard in the white circle of the dome light.

Toby kicked out at the passenger seat, hard enough to hurt his foot. “Shit,” he said.

In the past five minutes, he'd run the gamut of emotions, going from aroused to laughing, thinking that Keller was joking when he pulled thick plastic zip tie from his front pocket and advanced on Toby. The laughter turned to panic when Toby realized that the makeshift cuffs tightened around his wrists the more he struggled, and then he'd tried to run, thinking he could make it to the bar. Keller had caught him within a few steps, had grabbed Toby's elbows and marched him to a dark sedan parked around back. Toby had been shoved into the backseat unceremoniously, and when the door clicked shut, the gravity of his situation opened up his windpipes.

He groaned. “Unh, shit, I think I'm gonna be sick.”

Keller didn't look up. “You puke in my car, you'll lick it up.”

There was no reason for Toby to find those threatening words so exciting, but the thought of being ordered around by Keller still made his dick harden, even though he was handcuffed in the back of a stranger's car and absolutely no one knew where he was.

“Hey, listen, is this a ransom thing? A money thing? Because I've got money. You need money?” Wheedling, now, hoping that he could buy his way out.

“You don't have any money, remember?” Toby caught the hint of a smirk playing at Keller's mouth.

“Motherfucker!” With a final assault to the seat cushions, Toby leaned back, winded.

Keller finished the paperwork and laid it aside. He put the keys in the ignition, and Toby blurted out, “Come on, man, who are you? What do you want?”

In lieu of a reply, Keller flipped the visor down so Toby could see the dark leather wallet, one side taken up by a shiny badge.

“Shiiiit,” Toby said. “Wait, you're a cop? You can't be a cop! You didn't tell me you're a cop, and you were drinking on the job!” He crowed.

“Not a cop,” Keller replied.

“Not a...” Toby left the sentence unfinished. “But you have a... and if you're not... and a P.I. wouldn't...” He looked up. “You're my bounty hunter.”

Keller nodded. “Fugitive recovery specialist, bail enforcement agent, bounty hunter. Whatever you wanna call it.” He half-turned, flashing a smile at Toby. “Gotcha.”

“Asshole!” Toby yelled, wriggling his way up into a sitting position, his bound hands digging uncomfortably into his back. “You asshole, I am going to fight this, you hear me? You never told me who you were!”

“All those years of law school, what a waste of money,” Keller said, clucking his tongue.

“Screw you,” Toby sneered.

“I want to,” Keller said seriously, and their eyes met in the rear view mirror. Toby gaped. “But not when you're like this,” Keller continued, and Toby snapped his jaw shut. Keller looked away, flipping on the side blinker and then pulling out onto the road. “Taylor v. Taintor.”

Toby shook his head. “I don't know,” he said.

“Supreme Court case, one you oughta know,” Keller said, probably just to be a dick, Toby thought savagely. “Established that a bounty hunter has greater rights than a police officer. I'm better than a cop.”

Toby heard the smile in Keller's voice, and oddly, it comforted him.

“I can come into your house without a warrant. I can take you in without any Miranda bullshit. I can use any method that I see fit to catch my bounty, Toby. Anything I want.” The bastard sounded so fucking smug.

“And you wanted... me,” Toby said. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

Keller nodded. The car picked up speed as they turned onto the expressway.

“Already said that,” Keller said. “But then we've also established that I'm better than a normal cop, and I'm no fucking alcoholic who gambles with the lives of innocent people.”

Toby's lips parted in shock, but he couldn't find the strength for a rebuttal.

“Also you're probably headed to jail,” Keller continued. “I have a reputation to maintain. So it wouldn't work. I wouldn't be able to protect you inside.” He paused, then said, thoughtfully, “Outside, you'd break my heart.”

“You're a goddamn cunt,” Toby said viciously. God, for a minute Keller'd had him going, thinking about what it could have been like if his life wasn't such a fucking mess.

“Take it up with the NABEA,” Keller said. Then he said, “Keep a good hold on that anger, Toby. You'll need it.”

Toby felt as though he should know what Keller meant by that, but he didn't. They rode in silence for a while longer, until Toby recognized his surroundings and knew they were close to the precinct.

“Look, I...” Toby stared down into his lap, then he closed his eyes. “You're right. I am probably headed to jail. I sincerely doubt the judge will look favorably on someone who drank away his court date and then tried to get laid instead of... anyway. At the risk of confessing to someone who has no interest in my well-being.” He stopped, unsure of how to continue.

To his credit, Keller didn't speak.

"A month ago I hit a child," Toby said.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Slamming on the brakes, Keller glared at Toby in the mirror.

Horns went off around them, Keller swore, and then he pulled the car over onto the narrow shoulder of the road. A loud whip of wind buffeted the doors as a semi truck barreled past.

Unbuckling his seat belt, Keller turned to look at Toby. "You know how this works. Right now I got your power of attorney, remember? So I didn't have to Mirandize you, but I will if it'll shut you up. You don't want to be confessing any damn thing to me right now."

Toby met Keller's gaze stubbornly. "I said I hit a child. With my car."

"Christ," Keller said. "Toby, I gotta record this. I'm sorry, 'cause I do happen to have a lot of interest in your well-being." He muttered something unintelligible as he pulled a slim recorder out of the console between the seats.

A blinking red light prompted Toby to continue. Toby swallowed, his throat dry.

"It was a month ago – thirty four days – and I only had a few blocks to drive. It wasn't even dark yet." Toby remembered driving toward the faint light of the setting sun, the way that the shadows turned blue. A wedge of orange slanted down the windshield, forcing him to squint and fiddle with the visor.

Pushing his fingers against the hard plastic of the zip tie, he was reminded of swinging his key fob around his finger as he'd strolled over to his car. He always felt great after leaving a bar, as though he was about to embark on his next great adventure.

"I don't know what happened," he said numbly. "I think I ran a stop sign. There was a girl on a bike, and she came out from between two cars, and I braked, I thought I'd braked, but my car kept going.

"She didn't see me." A tear ran down his cheek and Toby gasped a little. "She didn't see me, and her bike poked out, and I was bearing down on her, god, like I was watching someone else do it. I was horrified and frozen and all I could think was that the pattern on her shirt looked like the comforter in the guest room, and then -"

There had been a thump, the screech of metal colliding with metal, and Toby had fought with the automatic seat belt when he tried to get out of the car.

"Her bike was beyond repair," Toby said dully. "Mangled. Never sit on that again."

"You fucker," Keller broke in angrily. "Did you just leave her there on the side of the road to die by herself?"

"What?" Toby jerked his head up, stared at Keller. "No, of course not. No. Her bike was beyond repair, but she was okay. Bruised, shaken up. She lived right down the road."

Toby felt the weight of Keller's stare on his shoulders. "Her parents didn't press charges, didn't even want to get the cops involved. They should have," he said, hearing the truth behind his words for the first time. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd hurt her."

"Bet you went home and had a drink," Keller said.

Keller's words were harsh, but the surprise was that he was right.

"Yeah," Toby said, trying to wipe his cheeks, forgetting he was bound. "Got so bombed that what happened felt like a dream."

Keller nodded. He turned off the recorder and stowed it away. Leaning forward, he rested his clasped hands on the console. "Okay," he said. "This is what I think should happen."

When he was done talking, there was a semblance of a plan in the open, an outline of something that resembled logic and Toby complimented Keller on his methodical skill.

"I used to not think things all the way through," Keller said. "Had to drop that habit in grad school. Apparently a Master's in Criminal Justice is some kind of serious business."

"I love it when you're self-deprecating," Toby said.

"Tit for tat," Keller replied.

~

Keller knew that Toby could follow the plan. Of course he could; it sounded easy when there was someone right next to you giving encouragement, but Keller had experience here. He knew that talking to addicts was pointless, leading to dead ends. Two months in a high-end rehab clinic would do the trick of getting Toby off the sauce, keep him on the wagon, but once he was out? He could return to his old tricks.

Keller sighed. He'd still recommend a suspended sentence to the judge. He hoped she'd go for it – he preferred to date guys who weren't in jail. Not that he'd ever done things the easy way, and the chemistry between them... that kiss, the power behind it, finding a matching strength... he wanted to know if it was enough to build into something real.

It'd been a long time since Keller felt okay about putting his trust in someone else. For Toby, hell, for a shot at something with Toby, he hoped he was right.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out [the awesome artwork that accompanies this story](http://oz-graffiti.livejournal.com/51088.html), as well as (scroll down) a ficlet written by Cmk418.
> 
> Also, NABEA stands for the National Association of Bail Enforcement Agents, a group that provides services and legislative advocacy for the bounty hunter community.
> 
> Orig. posted 4-17-11.  
> 


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